


Bruised

by Sapphylicious



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Teikou angst, written for 6/15 day back in... 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is something that hasn't changed one bit: this single-minded pursuit, insulated in apathy though it may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruised

Today is a rare day: Aomine shows up to practice. His attendance has been more miss than hit lately, and even now he ambles in when they're already halfway through, yawning hugely as though he hasn't slept through most of the day. He gets away with it only because he's the best, unbeatable, and because Akashi allows it. 

When Kuroko asks him to stay after for some one-on-one, he half expects to be refused, cited as boring or bothersome. It wouldn't be the first time.

But Aomine stops short on his way out, the lazy slouch of his back straightening with something like interest, only the slash of his mouth can't really be called a smile. "Sure, if you want to. It'll be like old times."

"Like old times," nostalgic words laced with sarcasm, and it's the same but it's not the same. The same empty auditorium, the same two people, the same echoes of bouncing rubber and squeaking sneakers. Kuroko's pulse races as a matter of course, exertion making its mark on his body, but nuances are lost between cause and effect and his heart can't tell the difference. 

_It's not right,_ he tells himself, but the would-be words are always drowned out by the insistent pounding of his blood, rushing as the tides do whenever Aomine pulls.

It's still not the same, but it's close enough. Close enough that he lingers afterward in the locker room, just to draw the moment out some more. There's no telling when Aomine will show up to practice again, and so Kuroko says for a second time, "Could you please stay for a little while?"

Aomine's expression clouds over with argument, but it clears when Kuroko puts a hand to his chest, palm flat upon his damp t-shirt before curling his fingers into the fabric, both anchor and barrier. He holds onto what is safe and certain at the same time as he contemplates throwing it away. 

"Sure," Aomine says in a rough voice dressed casual, "if you want to."

There's a word for this: pathetic. But losing is still worse, always worse, even when Kuroko's not precisely sure what's slipping through his grasp. He only knows something must be done about it.

The height difference has always made this part awkward; Kuroko tips his head all the way back and gets up on his toes, his hands fisting in Aomine's shirt and Aomine's arm looping around his waist to keep him balanced while their mouths meet. The initial contact is a brush, testing the waters, giving Kuroko a much-needed second to orient himself to this sudden closeness. Proximity—at least the conscious kind—has never been common or comfortable for obvious reasons, but along the way he's gotten used to the careless drape of an arm across his shoulders, the friendly bump of a knee against his own. These touches don't startle away once they're acknowledged. If Kuroko reaches, he'll be met halfway.

He pulls himself up that much more to kiss Aomine again, more firmly, and is rewarded with keen reciprocation. The hold on him tightens with the finality of a door shutting, a lock turning, and they are sealed together. Air is a nuisance, creating unwanted gaps between them with every pause and puff of breath, but even when his chest feels this tight a tiny knot of anxiety manages loosen, bringing minute relief. 

Here is something that hasn't changed one bit: this single-minded pursuit, insulated in apathy though it may be. There's no room for bitterness now, no holding back to be found in Aomine's demanding, open-mouthed kisses. He's hot to the touch, burning easily through a brittle shell of cynicism—if only in this moment, here and nowhere else, and it's still pathetic but that's fine. Kuroko can live with that, so it's fine.

Aomine slumps back against the row of lockers so Kuroko can lean into him, fitting into his larger frame. Everything about Aomine is lean and flexible, effortlessly strong, overpoweringly confident. Kuroko may exist within his shadow but he's the one who molds to the light's form. His hands flatten against Aomine's chest and slide down, mapping the compact muscle of his abdomen, the bony set of his hips, slipping bold fingers beneath the hem of his shirt to find warm skin.

There's a dare in Aomine's smirk, the way he catches Kuroko's lower lip with his teeth. _If you want to,_ says the hooded look in his eyes.

Kuroko doesn't want a lot of things as a rule, but there times when even he can be greedy. He squirms his hand down the front of Aomine's shorts where he's hard and wanting, palming the curve of his cock that elicits a low, pleased noise from the back of Aomine's throat.

Arousal floods Kuroko's system even though he's not the one being touched. He presses his face to Aomine's shoulder, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears, and moves his hand in clumsy strokes. There's always too much feeling involved when it comes to Aomine—Kuroko expects it, but he's never accustomed to it. The intimacy goes straight to his head while the blood rushes to his groin.

"Aomine-kun…" He shifts but Aomine is still holding him tightly. At the sound of his voice, hitched with desire, fingers tug at Kuroko's waistband. _Yes_ , Kuroko thinks, but a split second later shakes his head. "Please, wait, let me…" He doesn't pull away, only inches down Aomine's body.

"Tetsu…?"

His knees touch the floor, and Aomine's legs are just slightly bent to either side of him. Pounding fills Kuroko's ears as he pulls down Aomine's shorts and underwear to free his cock. Here his skin tone is a shade lighter, but still dusky brown, contrasting starkly with the paleness of Kuroko's hand wrapping around his shaft. There's a spot of dampness at the tip, and the clinging musk of sweat when Kuroko leans forward to swipe his tongue along the underside.

Aomine lets out a strangled, breathy sound. Glancing up, Kuroko takes in the dark flush on his face, the heightened color of his eyes gazing back down at him with unwavering attention. It's the only time Aomine gets this focused, this intense, off the court—and less and less on the court as well.

Kuroko drags his own concentration back to the present, to the weight of Aomine's hardness in his hand and the taste of him on his lips. He licks without any thought toward neatness, slicking Aomine's flesh with saliva to ease the jerking motions of his hand. Sloppy and messy and always a little uncomfortable—such is sex, which doesn't seem like a recipe for a pleasure, but there's no denying how turned on he is right now. He wants to reach for his own aching erection, but at the same time he can't bear to take his hands off of Aomine.

Fingers card through Kuroko's hair, and any other time it would be a vigorous ruffle, but Aomine can be gentle at the most unlikely of moments. Kuroko's eyes flutter shut at the caress. He kisses Aomine's cock, then parts his lips to take in the head and suck.

"Nnh… hah… Tetsu…" It's the closest thing to _weak_ that Aomine has ever sounded. He cradles the back of Kuroko's head, mounting tension evident in the tightening of his grip. It's a losing battle; Aomine can't hold back once he's gotten started, and Kuroko recognizes his cue to relax when Aomine thrusts into his mouth, pulls out, and does it again.

There's a certain satisfaction to the movement, being filled like this, rough with need but never more than he can handle. He takes what Aomine gives, lips spread and slick with spit, wetness dribbling down his chin. His tongue cushions the glide of Aomine's flesh in his mouth. An ache builds in his jaw and a push could make Aomine stop, but there's not much point when Aomine's this close, pace increasing to reach his climax.

The fingers in Kuroko's hair yank reflexively, a twinge of pain that isn't unexpected, and Aomine bites out a curse when he comes. The taste hits the back of Kuroko's tongue, hot and thick and never pleasant, but not unbearable. He swallows most of it as a matter of course, catching the rest in his hand and not feeling bad about wrinkling his nose. Aomine's grossed-out faces are always worse when it's his turn.

A hollow thump hits the lockers behind Aomine as he tips his head back, then slides down to join Kuroko on the floor in a sated, loose-limbed heap. No matter how lethargic his appearance, though, he's still quick to act in a rapid change of pace; in a blink he has an arm curled around Kuroko's waist, dragging him close until he's nestled against Aomine's chest.

"Oi, Tetsu," he drops his voice next to Kuroko's ear, smirk audible. "What are you planning to do with that?" He indicates the mess cooling in Kuroko's palm, and for a second Kuroko seriously considers wiping it on Aomine on the basis that most of it is his anyway.

But then Aomine is pulling his shorts down, guiding his hand to his painfully hard cock, and Kuroko decides getting off is really more important and he's not going to ruin the mood just to make Aomine sputter.

He's already wet, adding to it just makes it that much easier to stroke himself in earnest. Aomine bothers to completely remove his shorts so he can pull Kuroko's thighs open and spread him over his lap, head bent to press kisses to Kuroko's sweaty temple and enjoy the view.

"Pervert," Kuroko accuses, though he's hardly deterred, and all he can do is squirm when Aomine tongues the shell of his ear.

"Sure, go ahead and call me names when you're the one who's about to come all over himself."

Kuroko feels his face becoming explosively red. "And whose fault is that…?"

"Eh, should I take responsibility?"

" _If you want._ "

Aomine doesn't answer—not with words. He covers Kuroko's hand with his larger one, slowing down his speed and that's not at all what Kuroko wants even though it still feels so good. Aomine's other hand cups his balls, stroking and squeezing, dipping his fingers behind them until he brushes the crevice of his ass.

The good thing about Aomine's personality is that he doesn't have the patience for teasing. He might slow down to enjoy himself, but he's not interested in toying with people, or delaying gratification. The blunt tip of his finger circles Kuroko's hole once before pressing in, going slow with only spit and come for lubrication.

Kuroko's legs shake, splayed as they are over Aomine's, the rest of him trying to remain still as he accepts the invasive pressure. Aomine is relentless as always, sinking in past the second knuckle, asking a lot but never more than Kuroko is willing to give. He pumps in and out at the same time he fists Kuroko's cock, and between the two Kuroko strains with the need to rock his hips using what little leverage he has.

"Aomine-kun…!" His breath comes in gasps, body shuddering under Aomine's hands, pace finally picking back up with orgasm so near he can taste it in the sex-heavy air. A second finger is added, widening him, fucking him, and Aomine murmurs encouragement under the sounds of heated, slippery flesh.

"Tetsu, that's it, come on…"

His toes curl and his muscles lock as climax breaks upon him, spilling over their joined hands, and he's vaguely aware of Aomine biting down on the base of his neck. Mostly he's just washed away until he floats in a sea of boneless, shivering aftershocks, content enough until minutes pass and his temperature cools, along with other things.

"Nnh," is about all the protest he can manage. It occurs to him that it's been a long day, what with school, and club practice, and extra practice with Aomine, and then _extra_ -extra practice with Aomine.

He's jostled in Aomine's lap when the other boy reaches over to snag the strap of his bag and drag it close, fishing inside for a towel. "Here."

"Thank you." He cleans himself up, and thinks about getting to his feet, if only because Aomine's legs could be falling asleep by now.

If they are, he doesn't seem to care much, looping an arm across Kuroko's middle with no intention of moving anytime soon.

_We should get going_ —they're in the locker room after all, and it may be late but the door isn't locked, and he's rather conspicuously pantsless—but the reluctant words never quite crawl their way out of his exhausted common sense. "Thank you," he says again instead.

Aomine once said they connected well in basketball, but not anywhere else. That's not true, at least not anymore. "That was pretty good. I guess it's been a while."

"Will you come to practice again?" For some reason these words have no trouble flying from his mouth without consent, impossible to retract, although for a moment he doesn't want to take them back. He changes his mind as the seconds drag past and Aomine remains silent.

"Maybe, if I feel like it," he says at last, and punctuates the final word with a wide yawn.

(He comes to practice the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Never on time. He leaves early when he gets bored. But he shows his face consistently for a little more than a week until their next game, after which his absence is once again the norm. By then, Kuroko notices one evening before getting in the bath, the blue-black bruise Aomine fiercely marked on his skin has faded to nothing.)


End file.
